


Say Hello In This Cafe

by writetherest



Category: The Devil Wears Prada
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:33:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writetherest/pseuds/writetherest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Miranda found her thoughts, and eyes, straying to the girl often. She was an enigma, one that Miranda found herself wanting to figure out. Yet, when she left the café on Friday afternoon, Miranda was determined that she would not be returning again, and so the mystery of the barista would have to go unsolved.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say Hello In This Cafe

**Author's Note:**

> Written for fictorium for the prompt: Andy is a barista, Miranda is the incognito famous novelist writing her novel in Andy's coffee shop. Title taken from a line in the Train song _Marry Me_.

Miranda Priestly looked herself over in the full length mirror in her closet. The dark black wig fell against the charcoal Chanel suit she was wearing. Her normally ice blue eyes were an almost emerald green thanks to the tinted contacts she'd ordered specially, and she was wearing only a thin layer of foundation.

"Not bad, Mom," Cassidy called from the entrance to the closet, "although isn't the Chanel suit a little on the money with you?"

"I want to look different, Cassidy, not like a slob." Miranda rolled her newly green eyes and Cassidy laughed.

"Well, in that case, I think it looks great. I just don't see the need to dress up to go write at that café when you could just write in your study, looking like yourself."

Miranda turned and kissed her daughter lightly on the cheek. "I cannot seem to write anything in that office and if I don't change my appearance, I will be mobbed anywhere I go."

"Such a low opinion of your success, Mom." Caroline laughed as she passed by.

"Do the two of you not have school today?"

"It's summer, Mom. No school, remember?" Cassidy grinned.

"This is the perfect example of why I should send you away to a boarding school where you will be all year round."

"Ouch. That one hurt, Mom." Caroline told her, sticking her head in the room. "Besides, we're just leaving to go to our music lessons. Ready, Cass?"

"Yep. We'll see you later, Mom. Have fun writing! Love you."

"And I love both of you." Miranda told them and then sighed.

She hadn't had fun writing in a very long time, probably since her first book hit the bestseller list. Ever since then, it had been fights with agents and publicists and Elias Clarke Publishing wanting her to write, write, write. They didn't care what it was she wrote, as long as she turned in completed novels, and although critics and fans alike had given all of her sequential books nothing but praise, Miranda knew that none of them were on par with what she was capable of writing.

The past year had been especially tough with divorce number three and Irv Ravitz threatening to terminate her contract if she didn't deliver a new book by the end of the year. It was already late into July and she had been unable to get anything solid or worth writing on paper. She was beyond blocked, and had decided that the only way to get past it was to go back to her roots, literally, which was why she was dressed incognito and heading to the small, hole-in-the-wall café where she had written her first novel, all those years before. She only hoped that inspiration would once again strike her.

**

The café had not changed at all in the years since Miranda had first written there, except for those who inhabited it. None of the old 'usuals' were there, nor were any of the baristas, but the exterior and interior were exactly the same. Miranda quickly found her table and set up her laptop to claim it before heading to the counter to place her drink order.

She was third in line and found herself growing more and more impatient as it seemed that the barista liked to chat endlessly with each person whose drink order she took. All Miranda wanted was her damn coffee and some peace and quiet in which she could write, but this barista was throwing a wrench into her plans.

"Hi, Joey." The chirpy voice greeted the person in front of Miranda. "What can I get ya today?"

"Heya, Andy. I need a grande chai latte, and some advice." Miranda watched as the barista quickly scribbled a name on a cup and passed it back to another employee who set to work making the latte. At least one of the employees was efficient.

"What kind of advice?"

"Legal. See, Sarah is trying to get a divorce, but she wants it to be no-fault."

"Even though she's in love with someone else? Sorry honey, but in New York, there's no such thing as a no fault divorce. The best way to do it would be to have her and Ralph separate legally. Then, after a year, she can get the divorce. Otherwise, she'd have to admit to infidelity and name names. Or, you could always change the setting to somewhere that's not New York. Vegas, perhaps?"

Joey laughed. "Thanks, Andy. You're great. And actually, it's not Ralph anymore. You were right, that name was just… not right for the character. So I changed it to James."

"Much better." Andy smiled as the other barista called out, "Joey, your order's up."

"Thanks again, Andy," the young man blew her a quick kiss as he grabbed his drink and headed for a table.

"Anytime." She smiled, then turned to look at Miranda. "Well, hi there. You must be new around here. What can I get for you?"

Miranda scoffed. She wasn't new around here, it was this child that was. She cleared her throat and spoke with a clear English accent that she had worked for years to get rid of. "A tall non-fat vanilla latte with two shots. Piping hot."

The barista, Andy, and really who would choose such a nickname, smiled at her. "See, definitely not from around here. And your name?"

"Miriam." Miranda nearly choked on the name, but managed to get it out.

"Coming right up, Miriam." Andy grinned, writing her name on the cup and handing it off. She looked as though she was going to start making small talk, so Miranda quickly handed her a few bills and moved to the end of the counter. "Keep the change."

"Thanks!" Andy called after her with what she was sure was another wide smile.

**

"For the starving artist, on the house." Andy smiled as she sat a coffee down in front of Miranda a few hours later.

Miranda's eyes instantly flew up from her screen to pierce Andy. "Excuse me? What exactly is it about me that makes you think I am 'starving'? Is it the top of the line MacBook Pro that I am typing on? Is it my Chanel suit that costs more than you probably make in a year? Or is it the fact that in my haste to get away from you I gave you a nearly fifty percent tip? Hmm?"

The brunette looked every bit the deer caught in the headlights as she gaped at Miranda. "I – I'm sorry – I didn't mean to imply – when I said starving I didn't mean actually starving – it's just… it's a terminology, you know? Everyone around here is a starving artist of some kind, and I just, I always give a coffee to them when they seem to be really stuck, to help them, and so I thought –"

"I don't care what it is you thought." Miranda hissed out, the English accent sharp on her tongue. "I do not need nor want your help or charity. Now get that lukewarm excuse for coffee out of my sight."

All Andy could do was nod and quickly remove the coffee.

**

Although she had vowed not to step foot back in the café, Miranda found herself once again transformed into Miriam the next day. The barista may have been annoying, but she'd found herself actually inspired and had managed to get a good outline drafted the day before. Although not as superstitious as some writers, Miranda wasn't willing to lose the creativity that had come with the café, annoying barista or not.

She entered the café to find Andy working once again, this time leaning over the counter to show a middle aged man a bundle of papers with red markings scattered across them. "These chapters were really great, Derek. I just did basic editing, typos, punctuation, that sort of thing. It didn't need anything else."

"Really, Andy?"

"Absolutely. It's definitely coming along. Although, there was one little thing."

"What?"

"You had Mrs. Sanchez microwaving a meal for her kids, but the first countertop microwaves that were affordable for families were introduced in '67. Your story is taking place in the fifties. There were a few microwaves around then, but I doubt Mrs. Sanchez could afford one."

The man whistled. "Damn. I never would've caught that. Thanks, Andy."

Andy smiled and Miranda couldn't help but notice that she was rather attractive when she smiled that way. "Anytime, Derek."

The middle aged man moved on from the counter and Miranda moved to take his place. Andy's smile faltered for a moment upon seeing the woman, before it fell back into place. "Miriam! You're back."

"So it would seem." Miranda sighed out.

"Can I get you your usual?" Andy already had the cup in her hand, marker poised.

Miranda considered the barrage she could let loose about how Andy could possibly know her 'usual' when she had only been there once, but she let it go. It wasn't worth the time to filet this slip of a girl. She needed to get writing. "Yes." She pushed the few bills forward and moved on without another word.

"Have a good day!" Andy called after her, probably just to annoy her, Miranda thought.

**

On Wednesday, Andy greeted her with a smile, but quickly wrote her name and order on the cup and passed it off. Miranda thought perhaps the girl had finally gotten the message, but of course, she was wrong.

"So, what are you working on?" Andy asked, sliding uninvited into the booth, placing a cup of coffee down.

Miranda glanced up long enough to shoot her an icy glare before going back to typing.

"Let me guess. You're working on your dissertation, going for your doctorate?" Andy studied her for a second, then shook her head. "No, not enough notes and books. Is it a play? A lot of playwrights come here to work, think they'll become the next Kushner or something. Or Larson, if it's a musical you're writing. But somehow I don't think you'd be writing a musical." The girl finally paused for breath. "A novel then. It's gotta be a novel. Definitely not a cheesy bodice ripper, that's too… plebian for you. A thriller? Crime drama? I bet you could think up lots of ways to murder someone."

"The only person I am considering ways to murder is you, if you do not remove yourself from my booth this instant." Miranda hissed, and Andy once again took the hint, but this time she took it with a grin.

She leaned over as though she was going to sneak a peek at Miranda's laptop, but instead leaned close to the older woman and whispered, "I'll figure it out eventually," before turning and walking away.

**

Thursday and Friday found Miranda back at the café again. Her novel was beginning to come together, and the few sample pages she had sent to her publisher had had him drooling for more. Miranda had made the decision that she would finish out the week at the café, giving her enough time to get the outline completely fleshed out, and then she would return to writing from her home office. She only had to make it through two more days of the annoying barista.

However, it seemed that Andy had finally gotten the message, filling her order quickly and with a smile, but not approaching her at all on either day. Miranda enjoyed the peace and solitude, but also found herself watching the brunette as she worked, flitting around the café like some kind of writing fairy, providing those around her with anything and everything they might need.

Pens, pencils, and highlighters were pulled out of pockets in her apron before anyone even asked for them. White Out was tossed across the café after only the smallest groan of upset. A type writer ribbon was produced from the employee break room that fit perfectly into the portable type writer someone had decided to work off of. Coffee and pastries flowed in an endless stream, always exactly what the receiver needed.

But Andy was not just a supplier of necessary items. She was, it seemed, a walking encyclopedia of knowledge. Questions about the law were answered with a practiced ease that had Miranda wondering if the girl wasn't actually a lawyer who was moonlighting in the café. History references were bandied about readily, timelines falling easily into place with her help. Medical jargon flowed from her mouth as easily as a native tongue. Discussions of art, literature, film, music, and popular culture all came easily, adding layers and allusions to various works. She was a hand-holding, encouraging friend and no holds barred taskmaster at the same time, brandishing a red pen with a flourish that promised both carnage and salvation. She wasn't afraid to rip a work apart if needed, but she always had an encouraging word and suggestions to make things even better.

On the few occasions Andy wasn't brewing coffee or playing writer savior, Miranda noticed that she was off in a corner somewhere reading. It seemed that the girl went through two or more books a day, based on the five different books she had seen her with over the course of the two days. Miranda also noticed that she didn't just read the books, but instead seemed to be totally involved in them, highlighting and scribbling notes in the margins. All of the books had clearly been read more than once, as they seemed ragged, yet in a truly loved way.

Miranda found her thoughts, and eyes, straying to the girl often. She was an enigma, one that Miranda found herself wanting to figure out. Yet, when she left the café on Friday afternoon, Miranda was determined that she would not be returning again, and so the mystery of the barista would have to go unsolved.

**

Miranda had been signing books for what seemed like hours and the line was still stretched around the store and possibly out the door, because she certainly couldn't see the end of it. She let out a sigh and reminded herself to never allow Nigel to talk her into one of these signings again. They may be good publicity, but her hand was cramped, she was tired, and talking to hundreds more people today was not at all what she wanted to be doing.

Nigel must have noticed that she was unhappy, because he made his way over to the table and announced to the line that after this next autograph Miranda would be taking a short break. There were a few disgruntled murmurs from the crowd, but Miranda couldn't bring herself to care. Instead she flexed her hand, ready to quickly sign the last book and get away from the table for a while. She was halfway through her signature, never bothering to glance at the person who had handed her the book, when a voice caused her to startle.

"Ms. Priestly, I just wanted to say, well, that is, to tell you… I mean…" Miranda looked up and found herself face to face with the brunette barista who had been plaguing her table and her thoughts. Andrea? Here? In line to get her autograph? It couldn't be. And yet…

"What my friend is trying to say is that she's a big fan of your work." Lily cut in to Andy's rambling. "Big fan."

Miranda's eyes widened slightly at that knowledge. "Is that so?" Her eyebrow raised.

"Y-yes, Ms. Priestly. Your words and the way you write are just, well, they're inspiring to me." The brunette nearly gushed.

"Really? And what, pray tell, have my words inspired in you?" If there was a hint of ice or venom in her tone, Andy didn't seem to pick up on it. In fact, it appeared that the young woman had no idea who she was talking to. Or at least that the person she was talking to was also the person she drove crazy daily in a little coffee shop four blocks over.

"Oh, so much. I mean, you're the reason that I moved to New York, to became a writer." Andy nodded toward the book that Miranda was still stalled in the middle of signing.

The barista wanted to be writer? Why had that never come up?

"It was Constance's journey, the way you wrote it, it felt like you wrote it exactly for me. Which is silly, of course, but, I understood how she felt. Trapped and knowing that what her family wanted for her wasn't what she wanted for herself. And so she left and made her own way. That made me think I could do that too."

"And have you? Made your own way?"

Andy chewed her bottom lip softly for a moment before she smiled. "I like to think I have. I'm not quite there yet but… I'm here in New York City, chasing my dreams, so that's got to be worth something, right?"

Miranda said nothing else, merely finished her signature with a flourish and handed the book back to the brunette. So her writing, her story, although fictionalized, had inspired the barista to move to New York. The knowledge was intriguing, as was the fact that she was apparently the girl's favorite author. Yes, it was definitely intriguing.

**

Monday morning found Miranda back at the café, although it was not Andy who waited on her. Her eyes quickly scanned the café as she waited for her latte and settled in on Andy and the African-American woman she had been with at the signing on Saturday sitting at a table toward the back of the room. Her table, to be exact. Andy's friend produced a book from her bag, gave the brunette a hug, and then headed out the door.

Miranda took her drink and headed toward the table. The table was the one she had sat at every day so far and she would not give it up now. Especially not to Andy, who was not a customer, but an employee. She came to a stop by her chair, the one Andy was seated in, and stared at the brunette. The barista was lost in the book she was reading - Heat Rises, she noted from the cover. From her place over the girl's shoulder, she could see that the pages were already marked up, highlighter and red and blue pen collecting the reader's thoughts. There were asterisks by sentences and corresponding notes in the margins. Some were even in pencil.

When it became obvious that the girl was not going to acknowledge her presence, Miranda cleared her throat in annoyance. Instantly dark brown eyes flew up from the pages and connected with hers. "Oh, Miriam, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there." She looked at Miranda and took in the coffee, then glanced back at the table. "I'm sitting at your table, aren't I? I'm sorry." She quickly hopped up and moved to throw away her trash, leaving the book behind.

Miranda found it interesting that the girl knew that this was her table. She looked down to where the book still sat on the table and opened the front cover, only to find more ink on the title page. This time, it was black, and the writing was a much bolder, darker scrawl. 'To Andy, write in my books anytime, Richard Castle'.

"Oh, sorry, I'll get that out of your way." Andy said, grabbing the book.

"Mm, I noticed it was signed by the author."

"Oh, yeah." Andy smiled. "I really like his books, so my friend Lily got it signed for me at a book signing."

"You didn't go?"

"No. I - um - I've only ever been to one book signing before. My favorite author."

"And how was that?" Miranda asked, knowing that if Andy was telling the truth, she was speaking about the signing on Saturday.

"It was interesting. Long. I mean, I was totally happy to wait, because she's my favorite author, but I also find the whole book signing thing to be... odd? I always wonder how the authors feel about them. I mean, on one hand, I think it'd be great for the authors to get to meet their fans and such, but on the other, I'd think after a while it would just get tedious. And they have to be wondering who are actual fans and who are just there to get a book signed to hock on eBay."

Miranda blinked, surprised by just how on the money Andy was with her assessment. "And you, Andrea, what kind are you?"

Andy laughed. "I'm the kind of person that buys the books on eBay, usually for a ridiculous price. And who will wait in line when the author is important enough."

"And who is it that you deem important enough to wait in line for?"

"Miranda Priestly. She's the only author I've waited in line at a book signing for."

"And was it worth it?"

Andy grinned. "Definitely."

"So you purchase signed books on eBay?"

"Not often. I mean, sometimes. I get a lot of used books on eBay, because I tend to go through them pretty quickly." She nodded toward the book in her hands. "They only have so many margins where I can write."

"You always write in your books?"

A slight blush rose on Andy's cheeks. "Usually. It's a habit. A lot of people would be aghast to find out I write in them, I'm sure but... I blame lots of years of English research. It became easier to take notes in the books than on note cards and try to stick them in the right spots later. And now I can't seem to stop. It's actually how you can tell if I'm enjoying or interested in a book. The more writing, the more I like it."

Miranda's eyes fell again onto the pages that were covered in scribbled notes. "You must like this book very much."

"I do. Richard Castle is another of my favorite authors. I mean, he's no Miranda Priestly, and actually he's a totally different kind of author, but I just really like his writing. Very escapist. Plus, it's fun to try to solve the crimes before Nikki Heat does. That's what a lot of the notes in this copy are - case notes. Things I think might be important as I read."

"Well, it appears that Mr. Castle approves of your writing." She referred back to the written dedication.

"Oh yeah." Andy grinned. "My friend Lily told him about my habit. Like I said, I get kind of nervous about how people - authors especially - will react to me writing in books, but Lily said he was really cool about it. Said that he'd rather have a reader interacting with his words than just being a passive reader. But anyway, I've kept you from your table and your novel long enough." She closed the book and headed back toward the store room to stow it away.

Miranda watched her go. She wondered just what Andrea had written in her copies of Miranda Priestly's books. And how many copies of each book she had filled with her thoughts. Unlike Richard Castle, Miranda had never thought much about her readers before, besides the initial will they like it or won't they. She wrote mostly for herself, or her publisher these days, and didn't often consider her fans. But now she wondered, did she have many other fans like Andrea, people who were so intrigued or moved by her words that they took to writing their ideas down, highlighting passages of importance, examining and dissecting her words? The dark haired barista continued to intrigue her.

**

It was on Friday, after four more days of watching Andrea play writing fairy that Miranda finally addressed her questions. Andrea had just spouted off a string of legal jargon that had Miranda, well versed enough in the law from all her contractual dealings, blinking in surprise. "Who are you?" she asked the young woman pointedly.

"I - what?" Andy had been caught off guard by the question. She glanced around the room. There were only a handful of people in the room and there was no question that Miriam's eyes were trained on her.

"How is it that a simple New York barista knows so much about the law? And history and business and medicine and art and theatre and English, while we're at it?"

Andy swallowed in nervousness and bit her lip. "Oh, well, I don't know. Just... who I am, I guess. My dad's a lawyer. Wanted me to be a lawyer too. I swear the happiest day of his life was the day I got my acceptance letter to Stanford law. And the saddest was when I turned them down. My mom's a history professor and my older sister is a doctor. You pick up on a lot when you're constantly surrounded by the professions of others. Plus, I think I did more studying with my sister in med school than I ever did in my own college years. My two best friends are an investment banker and the owner of an art gallery, so I'm around both of those things plenty. I majored in English and journalism at Northwestern. And in my spare time - of which there isn't much - I love to go to the theatre, read, and watch television and movies. Also, I have a healthy love of Jeopardy and a great memory. So... that's who I am, I guess?"

Miranda said nothing, just stared at the girl who, instead of becoming less of a mystery, had just managed to become even more of one.

**

The following Wednesday came with buckets of rain and found Miranda as the only occupant of the café besides Andy. The dark haired woman had fielded a call earlier in the day from the other barista, claiming illness. Miranda suspected that the woman just didn't want to venture out in the dismal weather, but Andy had been concerned and soothing on the phone, telling her to drink tea with honey and get lots of rest. Miranda had the idea that the girl would have taken her chicken soup if she could've.

"So, are you going to let me read it today?" Andy asked, plunking down in the seat across from Miranda.

"Read what?" Miranda asked, her eyes still glued on her laptop screen, although she knew what Andy meant.

"Your novel. Your non-crime, non-thriller, non-romance novel."

"No." The answer was clipped.

"Oh come on. Everyone lets me read their stuff. I've been told I make a great editor."

Miranda raised her brow and then rolled her eyes but gave no verbal response.

"Why won't you let me read it? What are you afraid of?"

Miranda scoffed and although she didn't speak the words, Andy heard them loud and clear. _I am afraid of nothing._

"Is it about me?"

"Andrea, go bore someone else with your questions."

"There's no one else here," Andy grinned. "So is that it? The novel's about me and that's why you won't let me read it. I'm the Kate Beckett to your Richard Castle."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Kate Beckett is the detective Richard Castle bases his Nikki Heat character on. He shadows her at her job. She's like his muse."

"Are you suggesting that you could be my muse?"

"Well, if you're writing your novel about me..." Andy teased.

"What on earth would qualify _you_ to be a muse to anyone, least of all me?" Miranda snapped back, tired of the barista's games.

Silence settled around the café and only after a full minute did Miranda realize what she had said and the tone in which she had said it. She looked up to find Andrea back behind the counter, her back turned and shoulders tensed. She tried to think of something to say, but found nothing. She hadn't meant to hurt Andy's feelings, she had just spoken as she always did to the people in her life. She watched as the door opened and someone hurried in out of the rain.

Andy turned, a smile on her face. "Good morning! What can I get for you today?" Only the slight red tinge to her eyes gave away the fact that moments ago she had been crying.

**

"Andy! Andy! They want to publish my book! They want to publish it!" Joey burst through the café door on Friday afternoon, shattering the silence that had been hovering over the café since Wednesday morning. A letter was clutched in his hand.

"What?"

"I just got it this morning! Look!" He pushed the letter towards her and Miranda watched as she took it in with wide, excited eyes.

"Joey, this is amazing!" The barista practically flung herself across the counter to hug the writer. "I told you your book was good enough to be published."

"I couldn't have done it without you, Andy."

"Oh stop, of course you could. Now come on, drinks on the house. We have to celebrate." The joy on Andy's face only faded one moment, when she turned toward the espresso machine. It was gone in an instant, but for that fleeting moment, Miranda saw the pain etched onto Andy's face, along with the question - why not me?

**

On Monday morning of the fourth week Miranda spent writing at the café, she found herself once again alone in the café with Andy. The sun was out in a beautiful summer day, and this time the call had come about a trip out of town to visit a sick relative and needing one more day with them. Miranda knew - as she hoped Andy did - that this was a bold faced lie, but the barista just gave her well wishes for the sick aunt and told her to take all the time she needed.

Miranda wondered when or if Andrea ever took off. She was at the café every day from open to close from what Miranda could tell. She supposed that she was off on the weekends, after all, she had come to her book signing. Or had she taken off work for that? Was meeting Miranda Priestly for a minute, literally, worth calling off work and standing in line for two hours to Andy? Miranda found herself wanting to know, wanting to ask, but again holding her tongue.

She watched the girl sitting in a booth, legs pulled up, scribbling something in a notebook. She had a look of concentration and determination that Miranda thought she could remember on her own face when she had first started out as a writer, before publishers and agents and assistants had entered her life.

"Why is it that you have never been published, Andrea?" It was the first time she had addressed Andy since the previous Wednesday. They had managed to coexist and communicate without words since that time.

Andy blinked and looked up at Miranda. "What?"

"I do not enjoy repeating myself. Do pay attention."

"I heard you," Andy replied, an edge to her own voice. "I pay attention just fine."

"Then answer my question. You cannot want to spend the rest of your life working in this café, and it is obvious you have dreams of becoming a writer. So why is it that you remain unpublished while others whom you help to hone their craft go on to become known authors?"

Miranda had spent a decent portion of her weekend pondering this very question. How many other Joeys were there out there that Andrea had helped who were not published authors? Were there people from her circle of writer friends? New York Times bestsellers? How many people had gotten published with novels that Andrea had help hone while she remained a barista? And why on earth did she care at all?

"I don't want to be a disappointment." Andy said calmly.

"You are afraid of disappointing others, so you never try?"

Andy actually laughed at that. "Afraid of disappointing others? No way. Been there, done that."

Miranda was surprised by the answer. "Who could you have possibly disappointed?"

Again, Andy laughed, although this time there was a bitter hint to it. "Who haven't I disappointed is the better question. It seems that all I am is a disappointment. I disappointed my parents when I turned down Stanford to go to Northwestern. I disappointed my sister when I told her I wanted to be a writer, not a doctor like her or a lawyer or teacher like our parents. I disappointed my ex-boyfriend when I refused to move to Boston with him. I disappointed my friends when I started spending all my time here instead of going out with them or looking for a "real job". In one way or another, big or small, I have disappointed everyone in my life. But I have never disappointed myself. And I'm not going to start now."

"And you would be disappointed in yourself if you got rejected?"

"I would be disappointed in myself if I submitted something to a publisher that wasn't my best work, regardless of whether I got rejected or not. Hell, I'd probably be more disappointed in myself if I submitted something that wasn't my best work and got published. I know what I'm capable of and so far, my writing isn't ready to be published. When it is, I'll submit it, and if it gets rejected, at least I'll know that it was my best effort. I won't be disappointed then. But if I just submit something because people want me to, even if it meant being a published writer, and it wasn't something I felt proud of... how could I not be disappointed in myself then?"

Andy paused for a moment to gather her thoughts and then referenced her favorite book. "It's like Constance - she knew she only had to please one person and that was herself. It didn't matter to her what everyone else thought of her, it only mattered what she thought of herself - that she could look herself in the eye. I just need to be able to look myself in the eye. So yeah, maybe I'm just a barista who helps other people get published, but never goes out there and tries for herself. But I can look in the mirror and be proud of myself, even if no one else can. I'm okay with being a disappointment, because I know that I haven't disappointed myself."

Miranda stared at the girl, again surprised by the depth and maturity that she showed. Once again, the girl had referenced Miranda's own book when talking about her life.

"You should be proud of yourself, Andrea."

A large smile spread across Andy's face. "Thank you, Miriam."

**

The next evening at dinner, after the girls had chattered on about their days, the conversation turned to Miranda and her café adventures.

"So, how's the book coming, Mom?" Cassidy asked.

"The first draft is finished." She didn't tell the girls that the novel had gone through a major rewrite in the past two days. "I need to do preliminary edits before I send it to the publisher and editor, but I'm pleased with it so far."

"Wow, that's awesome, Mom. That's like, the fastest you've ever written a book, isn't it?" Caroline asked, thinking of the long months that her mother usually spent writing her novels.

"Not the fastest, no, but close to it."

Miranda had written her first novel over the course of three days after she'd left England and everything she knew behind. Since then, the words had continued coming, but not nearly at the same pace as before. Although she had written the majority of this novel in two days, she had been laying the groundwork for much longer.

"So how's Andrea?"

Miranda looked up startled. "Andrea? How do you know about Andrea?"

"Oh come on, Mom. You talk about her all the time." Cassidy laughed.

"Wha - I - I do not."

"You really do." Caroline grinned. "Andrea did this today. Yesterday Andrea said that. Andrea is reading Richard Castle's new book. Andrea brought me a scone this morning."

"Alright, I get the picture." Miranda shot her daughter a look, surprised by just how much she was apparently talking about Andrea at home. She didn't remember saying any of those things.

"So when do we get to meet Andrea?" Cassidy asked.

"What?"

"When do we get to meet her? She's obviously important to you, so we figured we should meet her."

"Andrea is not important to me." Miranda denied. "She is merely the barista at the café where I have been writing."

"That you talk about all the time." Caroline emphasized.

"And she must be helping you, because you just admitted that this is close to the fastest you've ever written a novel."

"Yeah, and you haven't been moody or locking yourself away or anything like you normally do."

"So we want to meet her."

"Girls, Andrea is a barista. Nothing more."

The girls both rolled their eyes. "We still want to meet her."

They both picked up their dishes and headed for the sink. Miranda watched them go, surprised by their reaction and once again puzzling over their words and how much she was apparently talking about the young woman to her children.

**

On Wednesday, Miranda didn't come to the café, but her daughters did. School was back in session, but they had the day off for teacher in-service, so they'd decided to go the café and investigate the barista their mother couldn't stop talking about.

They waited to see if she would dress up and leave that morning, but apparently she had decided to do her editing at home, locked up in her office as usual. They told her they were leaving and headed for the café that their mother had been spending most of her time in.

The dark haired woman with 'Andy' on her name tag smiled widely at them as they walked up to the counter. "Good morning. What can I get you two today?"

After ordering, they found a table and sat down to watch the woman. The café was once again rather deserted. After a few minutes, they watched Andy pick up a book and sit down at a table across from them.

"Is that the new Richard Castle book?" Cassidy asked, trying to start up conversation.

"Yeah, it is. You read Richard Castle?"

"Not really. Our Mom doesn't really like us to. She says there's too much sex. But we checked the first Nikki Heat book out of the library and read it. It was pretty good."

Andy smiled. "Yeah, I like his writing. But I also understand where your Mom is coming from. Some of the things are a little adult."

"Do you like to read?" Caroline continued the questions.

"I love it. It's one of my favorite things to do. What about you two?"

"Oh yeah. We sort of have to like it. Our mom is Mir - "

"Majorly into reading." Cassidy cut in. "Majorly. So we got the reading gene from her apparently."

Andy laughed. "That's where I got mine, too."

"So, Andy, who's your favorite author?"

"Oh, that's easy. Miranda Priestly. I think she's fabulous."

The girl's eyes widened for a moment before they controlled themselves. "Really? You like Miranda Priestly?"

"I think she's a genius." Andy smiled.

"Have you ever met her before?" Caroline asked and Cassidy shot her a look.

"I went to a book signing just recently and met her for a few moments. It was great."

"But she's never like, come into the café or anything?"

"Caroline!" Cassidy hissed under her breath.

"No, I wish." Andy laughed and closed her book. "Break's over. Enjoy your coffee girls."

"We will." They grinned.

Once Andy was back behind the counter, the girls ducked their heads together. "She really doesn't know who Mom is?"

"Apparently not."

"But she's a big fan of hers. I wonder if Mom knows?"

"Of course Mom knows. Andy went to her book signing, duh."

"Well, she obviously likes Mom as Miranda Priestly. Do you think she likes Mom as Miriam?" Caroline wondered.

Cassidy looked over to see Andy glancing around the room and then toward the door. "Based on the way she's looking around, I'd say she does."

"You think she's looking for Mom?"

"I'd bet on it."

**

Andy tried not to feel disappointed when Miriam didn't come in at all during the morning. The two red headed girls had been a nice distraction for a while, and various other regulars had come and gone, which had kept her busy. But the entire time she had been hyper aware of the fact that Miriam wasn't there in the café, sipping her piping hot lattes and typing away and ignoring Andy unless she was piercing her with difficult questions and wicked green eyes.

People came and went in the city, especially in the café. There were certainly regulars, but often even they left after a while - once their novels were written or they got their jobs. Andy had gone through tons of people while she worked at the café, but this one stung more than any of the others.

And Miriam had only been gone for a day.

**

"You didn't go to the café today?" Caroline asked at dinner that night, trying to sound casual.

"No, I edited from home."

"I thought you liked going to the café?" Cassidy picked up the questioning.

"I do. It was very inspiring. But now isn't the time for distractions, I need to get these edits finished."

The girls glanced at each other and smirked softly.

"What's distracting at the café?"

"Hmm? Oh. Well. The noise, the people, you know."

"Any particular people?"

Miranda looked up and fixed a sharp look on both the girls. "What are you two talking about?"

"Nothing, Mom." Cassidy quickly assured. "Just wondering if there was anyone specifically distracting you?"

"No. No one."

The girls let it drop, but they both knew their mother was distracted by Andy.

**

Miriam didn't come back to the café for over a month. Every day Andy looked for her and waited, hoping that she would show up, but she never did. And every day, Andy told herself again that people came and went in the city. But every day, it hurt just a little bit more.

There was something about the woman that had been utterly fascinating to Andy and she missed her presence in the café. Even if Miriam had spent a good portion of her time sniping at Andy and wanting to be left alone, Andy still felt like they had made a connection, at least towards the end. She just wished that Miriam had said goodbye.

She also wondered how the woman's novel was coming. She hoped it was going well, even if she'd never get to read it.

**

"So, how's the novel, Mom?" Cassidy ventured that night at dinner.

It had been a sore subject ever since Miranda had started to edit the novel a little over a month ago. When the editing process began, their mother had locked herself away, refusing to go back to the café, saying she didn't need the distractions.

But it was obvious to them that she did.

Where she had been happy and pleased with her writing before, now that she was home and away from the café (and Andy), she seemed to hate everything she had written. The girls would come home sometimes to find her tossing crumpled up pages around in a fit of anger.

"None of this is as it should be!" She would shout. The girls had taken to steering clear of her for the past few weeks.

"Finished." Miranda declared as she cut a bite of her steak.

Cassidy and Caroline's heads both snapped up. "What?"

"I finished it this morning."

"You finished it? But yesterday you said you were throwing out the whole thing." Caroline remembered the particularly violent outburst when her mother had taken all of the printed pages she had so far and flung them across the room in a fit of anger.

"And I was." Miranda nodded. "But then I went back to my original first draft and I realized that I liked it the way it was. That when I was editing it, I was trying to edit it to please the publishers and the fans and everyone but myself. But at the end of the day, I have to look myself in the eye. And I love the novel just the way it was. So I sent it to the editors today. We'll see what they make of it."

The twins grinned at each other. "That's awesome, Mom!"

"Yeah! We can't wait to read it."

"You'll let us read it first, again, right?"

Since Miranda had deemed the girls old enough, she always gave them the first official copy of the book when it was finished and allowed them to be the first people to read it.

Miranda smiled and nodded at them. "Of course. Although, there is one other person that I'd like to give it to in advance."

The twins' smiles grew even wider. They had a feeling they knew just who their mother was talking about.

**

It was another two months before the book was ready and so another two months before Miranda stepped back into the café.

On the morning that she did, snow covered the ground and continued to fall from the sky, seeming to chase people away from the streets. The café was empty, except for the single barista behind the counter.

At the sound of the bells on the door, Andrea looked up and took in the sight of Miriam walking into the café. She just watched her as she walked up to the counter. And then, when she stopped, Andy offered her a small, almost guarded smile.

"Hello, Miranda."

It took her a moment, but then Miranda realized that Andrea had referred to her by her chosen name, instead of her given name. The girl knew who she was.

"Hello, Andrea." She spoke for the first time in the barista's presence without her English accent.

Andy continued the conversation, keeping it light and easy. She didn't address the fact that Miranda had been deceiving her, or that she knew it. "It's been a while. Will you have your usual today?"

"Yes."

Andy turned and made the coffee, humming softly along to the Christmas music that was playing in the background.

"Andrea," Miranda said after a minute of watching her, "how did you know?"

Andy turned, the cup of coffee in her hand and looked at her. "That you were Miranda Priestly and not Miriam Princhek? I didn't, at first. Or, I guess I didn't know that I knew. It wasn't until you stopped coming in and then your new book was announced that I started to put the pieces together."

"A clever girl."

Andy's nose wrinkled at being called a girl. "The way you looked at me at the signing – it was so familiar, but I couldn't place it. Wrong eye color, I guess. And your voice, the tone and the way you spoke to me here – I've listened to hundreds of interviews and all of your books on tape. I can't believe I didn't recognize it sooner, even with the accent. But once the title and the cover art for the new book were revealed, everything clicked into place."

Andy passed the coffee to the writer. "And I felt like an idiot."

That surprised Miranda. "Why on earth did you feel like an idiot?"

Andy turned away, cleaning up behind the counter. "How could I not have known?" She mused, almost more to herself than Miranda. "And how could I gush on and on the way I did about you to your face without know it was you? And all the things I said –"

"Everything you said was eye opening and, indeed, inspiring." Miranda pulled the book that was wrapped in red paper and tied with a bow out of her bag and handed in across the counter.

Andy stared at it for long moments before she reached out and took it, but even when it was in her hands, she just continued to look at it.

"Well? Are you going to open it?" Miranda puffed out, not liking that she was being kept waiting.

"Oh!" Andy breathed and then very slowly pulled the wrapping paper off, revealing the book.

She ran her hands over the cover, her fingers tracing the image of a brunette barista with her back turned, coffee cups sitting on the counter waiting for someone to claim them. She'd already seen the cover online when it was first revealed and again when she'd preordered the book, but it was different – more real somehow – to be holding it in her hands with Miranda Priestly looking on.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, her eyes stuck on the title.

_Disappointment_

Her heart felt like it was being squeezed and all she wanted to do was crack open the book and start reading.

Miranda seemed to sense her thoughts and a ghost of a smile played on her lips.

"I thought you'd like to read it, now that it's finally finished."

"I would! Of course I would, Miriam – Miranda – I –"

Miranda shook her head, cutting off whatever the barista had been about to say. "I really must be going, but perhaps after you've read it, you could let me know what you think."

She handed a business card to Andy.

"Absolutely."

And before she could say more, Miranda turned and left the café, her untouched coffee still sitting on the counter.

For a few minutes all Andy could do was stare at the business card and the words 'my cell number' written in Miriam's – no, Miranda's – script with a pen, followed by the usual 7 numbers. She had an advanced copy of Miranda Priestly's new book and her private cell number to boot.

"Holy shit!"

She opened the book, glad for the snow and lack of customers, and made it to the dedication page before she was stopped cold.

_For Cassidy and Caroline, as always. And for Andrea - there is one other person you have yet to disappoint, and that person is me._

Underneath the printed words, Miranda had written more in her own elegant script.

_To Andrea – you are far more qualified to be a muse than I ever gave you credit for. This novel is proof of that. Thank you for being my Kate Beckett. I hope that I have not disappointed you too much with this effort. - M.P._

It took a good ten minutes before Andy's vision cleared enough for her to start reading the book.

**

From the time she had walked in the front door, the girls had known that their mother had given the book to Andy. She was obviously nervous, although trying not to show it. She couldn't seem to sit still for any length of time, instead getting up and down, moving from room to room with no real purpose in mind, except to keep her mind off the fact that Andrea could be, at that very minute, reading the novel. She was failing miserably.

"Mom, you just gave her the book two hours ago. Unless she's some kind of speed reader, she won't be able to get through it that fast." Cassidy pointed out on her second trip through their bedroom.

"Yeah, and she's at work, so she may not even have time to read it until she gets done with her shift." Caroline added.

"But she'll definitely read it."

"And she'll definitely call."

Miranda wished she could be as confident as her daughters, but she was stuck on the words she'd written, both in print and by her own hand, and how she'd revealed more of herself to the barista than she had to anyone except her children in a very long time.

Her phone buzzed suddenly, breaking the quiet, and all three eyes flew to it. Cassidy scooped it up and looked at the display. "It's a text. From a number not in your contacts. Gotta be Andy, right?"

Miranda snatched the phone from her daughter's fingers and hit the open button with none too little trepidation.

_Started reading… it's brilliant so far. Won't finish until late. Call you tomorrow. Thank you, again. – A._

Miranda's fingers shook as she typed back a reply.

_Call as soon as you finish, no matter the time. That's all._

And across town, Andy laughed at the words that brooked no argument, even through text.

**

It was nearly two in the morning when her phone finally rang. Miranda answered before the first ring was even done sounding. "Andrea?"

There was a long pause, where she could hear Andrea's breaths and some tiny sniffles. Finally, the young woman spoke. "I, uh, I finished about an hour ago but I – I needed some time to process." The barista admitted softly.

Miranda said nothing, just held her breath and realized just how much stock she had put into Andrea's reaction – and into Andrea herself. Somehow the annoying barista had become, without her realizing, one of the most important people in her life. How had that happened? How had she wormed her way in?

"It's amazing, Miranda. I don't even have words."

"You? Without words?" Miranda managed to tease softly. The tiny laugh she heard made the effort worth it.

"I know, right? But Miranda – you're wrong. This – I can't have inspired this. This is too – and the character is – it's so much more than I could ever –"

"Andrea." Miranda cut her off. "I meant what I wrote. All of it."

Silence settled again and Miranda did her best not to imagine Andrea, curled up in her bed, clutching the book.

"It really is amazing. Every word of it. It's so much -" Andrea stopped herself.

"Better than my previous works?" Miranda supplied for her. She wasn't upset by this observation. She knew it to be true.

"No, not better. You know I love everything you've ever written. It's just more – real than your writing has been in a while. It's true. Like your first book was."

"Figured that out, did you?"

"I've always found that the best writing comes from a true place." Andrea was smiling, she could tell, even over the phone. "And I may have done some Google searching on Miriam Princhek."

Miranda rolled her eyes. Of course the girl had. There wasn't much to be found, she'd made sure of that, but what little still existed was probably more than enough for the barista to paint a – probably very true – picture of Miranda's former life.

"I think I'm going to send a copy of the book to my parents. Maybe it'll help them understand. Or maybe they won't read it or get it at all. But it's worth a shot, right?"

"Yes." She said simply, moved by Andrea's words and the stock that she had put in her novel already. "I believe it is worth a shot."

Silence stretched between them again and she heard Andrea stifle a yawn.

"It's late. I should allow you to go to bed."

"Already there," Andrea replied easily and Miranda had to work extra hard to keep her mind focused on the conversation. "But some sleep would be nice. Will you – I mean, do you think maybe –" Andy hated herself for the way she fumbled for words.

"Have you given any thought to your next book?" She buried her head in the pillow, aware of just how lame she sounded.

"I believe that I'm going to take a break from writing for awhile." Miranda admitted. "I've spoken with my agent and my publisher, and while neither are happy about it, they both understand that I need to take some time off to rejuvenate. Plus, there are my children to think about."

Andy felt her heart sink, but made sure to keep her voice neutral. "Of course. You deserve a break. Especially after this. It's a masterpiece, truly. But you know – whenever you're ready, the café will be waiting. And I mean, just because you aren't writing, doesn't mean you can't stop in for a cup of coffee." She added, already feeling like an idiot.

Just because the narrator in the novel had seemed to show an attraction to the barista, that didn't mean that those particular feelings were a reflection of Miranda herself. In fact, they were more than likely not a reflection at all. The woman had been married three times and had two children. She was probably quite ready to forget about Andy now that the book had been written.

"While I will never turn down a good cup of coffee, I was thinking more along the lines of dinner." Miranda told her.

"I – I'm sorry, what?"

"We've been having coffee together for months now. I think it is time we advanced on to dinners, don't you?" And though she knew she sounded confident, Miranda felt her stomach rolling as she waited for Andrea's reply.

"I – really?"

"I've been invited to attend a publishing dinner – schmoozing and all of that. I heard that Richard Castle may be there, if that might convince you to join me, since my own presence seems to be failing to entice you." Miranda deadpanned.

"I – I'm sorry. It's two in the morning and – Miranda, are you asking me on a date?"

"If this conversation is too much for you, we can pick it up again in the morning."

"Yes! I mean, no! I mean, no, we don't need to pick it up again in the morning and yes, I'll go. Of course I'll go."

"This is just because I told you Richard Castle would be there, isn't it?"

And Andrea laughed then, loud and long and joyfully, and Miranda thought that she could write volumes on that sound alone. "Totally."

"Ungrateful." Miranda teased. "And in case you've forgotten, he already has a muse."

"I don't know," Andy teased right back, "maybe I could convince him to drop her. I've been told that I'm a pretty great muse."

"I'm hanging up on you now." Miranda warned.

"I'll call you right back. I have your number now, remember?"

"Go to sleep, you impertinent child. I will speak to you in the morning."

"Are you sure I'm not just dreaming all this? Because, I've gotta tell you, I've had dreams like this before and –"

"And one day, I will have you tell me all about them." Miranda husked. "But for now, you are not dreaming, although you need to be. Goodnight, Andrea."

"Goodnight, Miranda."

The phones finally clicked off, and each woman fell back into bed with happy grins on their faces. And the only disappointment to be found was the title of the book that Andrea clutched as she dreamed.  



End file.
